


The Master of Wayne Manor

by SilverDrake



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:46:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDrake/pseuds/SilverDrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say behind a great man there's often a great woman. Some may say this goes for a hero like Batman too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Master of Wayne Manor

It's not always easy to be Miss Wayne.  
Society has a set of rules and models it finds very hard to get rid of. If it ever needed to. And those who live at the top of the pyramid are expected to respect those roles even more strongly than the other, if only because it's the pyramid itself that allows them to thrive.  
Not that I can complain. After all, I have seen the worst and the best of society and, in a way, I have earned my freedom.  
Surely most of this is thanks the the master of Wayne Manor.  
Bruce Wayne, the eccentric billionaire with a taste for good life but at the same time so careful of his privacy. Of his secrecy. A man that has learned to live with many masks, and we, the few who really know him, cannot always be sure who stands in front of us.  
But that is just what Bruce is.  
Everyone talks like they know what happened to him, but they do not really know, the don't really understand. Me, however, poor little Joanna, I know all too well.

The first time we met, it was I think a few months after his parents were killed.  
I did not really read the news back then. I was only a poor lack orphan on the streets of Gotham. And I did not like that weird rich kid who had been brought to my neighborhood.  
I found out later that some doctor had thought it would be good for young master Bruce to meet other kids in the same situation. It would help him. If only there were other kids in the same situation. Few of us even had something resembling a real home, and don't get me started on all the other things. For one, the agents were there to protect him and watch us.  
So here was a spoiled kid who came to us to feel like he really had it bad. Or maybe to see that at least he was on the right side of being a victim. And probably would write a long book of memories, growing up, where he would say how he learned that losing something, however important, was not the same as losing everything, and that he learned the secret to being content on that day.  
But that was not Bruce, or "Wayne" as I still call him. He was not looking for comfort. He was looking for a fight. He was looking for a place where he could strike back. And I did not need a psychology major to see that. You just needed to look into his eyes. It was the first thing I saw of him, and I guess I fell in love with that a bit. Though it wasn't a pretty sight.  
We didn't exactly close that encounter on good terms. They beat me up pretty badly, in the end, and I thought I'd seen the end of it. Then, a few weeks later, Alfred came and took me away. Forever.  
It seems rules of law and regulations mean very little when you are very rich. In defense of Wayne, though, I should mention that Wayne Manor was surely a more proper environment to raise a kid than my neighborhood. Raising a lady, however, it was not so easy.  
We watch a lot of movies, Wayne and I, and we love our Nikita. The original. Sure, I had the best teachers, tutors, servants and anything else the etiquette commands, but I could not find it in myself to fake being what I was not.  
Wayne, however, he did not complain. As everyone expected, we had gotten very close in time and confided in each other, so I knew he was struggling like me, only from the other side. Where I could not hide my origin in manners and conventions, he still couldn't get out all that aggression. We were, in a way, the very same thing, only I was adept at controlling it, and he at covering it. Even too much. But that was going to change.

I suggested that we started training together. Sparring together. Not in the gym, though. There were too many protections, too many eyes. I guess we already knew where it was going, deep down. Looking about the grounds, we found an opening to a cave right under the manor. The perfect place for our very private mischief.  
My, had he grown. A powerful young man, rippling with energy at every single breath.  
I was no damsel in distress myself. Old habits die hard, and I had taken care of my physique. Some thought that Wayne would have sent me out as soon as I reached legal age, and while I knew better, that nagging feeling that one day I may have to take care of myself made me work hard. I had more than enough to show, and not only on that front. Which, apparently, did not seem to distract my sparring partner.  
We threw ourselves at each other. There was no elegance, no style. We were just anxious for a release. And what a release was that. We didn't have much of a technique, as I said, but we more than made up for that in intensity. The taste of adrenaline filled my mouth, but this day it was different from anything I had ever felt.  
I had punched people, I had been hit by people, I had run away from people, the latter quite a lot if all I wanted to take back home were bruises and small cuts. I knew how it felt. This was another thing completely.  
Wayne was not a threat. He wanted to hit someone, he needed it, but he would not hurt me, he would not damage me. In all his rage, in his growing unreleased anger, he would still care for me, even when this feeling was swallowed by the storm he was going through.  
Me being me, this made me bold. I watched him while we sparred, I saw how he became more and more stressed by the conflict between rage and control, growing more and more frustrated. More than once I would hear his breathing change, and I knew it meant he was doubting, he was thinking of surrendering. I didn't want that. It wasn't what he was supposed to be. Somehow I felt I knew him better than he knew himself. And I was right.  
I taunted him. I went personal. I pushed him where I wanted him to be, where he needed to be. And he was so close, but could not get there. I went for the jugular: his race, his name, his heritage, his parents.  
I didn't see the slap coming. But I saw his eyes change, I felt his breath, I saw his arm tremble and his muscles tense. And I don't know why exactly, but I realized for the first time how much we were sweating; I would find out later there was a source of hot water down the cave. And that change of focus made me look at Wayne again. Was he really seeing me at the moment? That was also when I realized the slap burned on my cheek.  
But it was a good burn. Because I could take it. I could take more, much more, if I wanted. And I choose that I wanted to. I hadn't budged when he slapped me the first time. He had stepped back, looking lost. He did not really understand what he was going through. I did, though. I came closer, and told him to do it again. I didn't taunt, I didn't provoke, I just told him. And he hit one more time. And one more. The fourth did not land. Because I had smiled, and he had seen it. And he understood. His hand touched my face and held it.  
For a second, I thought he would break down. But this was a new Wayne. My Wayne.  
I held his hand against the bruise. Took the other and brought it on my side. He understood, and came forward. His hold had a new strength. No longer restrained, and as tight as humanly possible before harm. He would not have let go for anything but a single breath from me. And I knew this too. And first it was grasp, then it was mouths, and legs, the whole of us fusing and clashing and holding and rushing and caressing. We were no longer just Jo and Wayne. We were changing into something more.  
We let our instinct run, and ride and discovery. Not just in the cave, of course; there is only so much you can do before your enthusiasm is pierced by a rock of some kind, and that's a bit off even for us. But since that day Wayne has been mine... as I am his.

He has learned to fight. We train together in the manor, though our best sessions are still in the cave, where we can add our very own art to the martial side. The cave itself, by the way, has received some care so that we can have a more comfortable time down there, care of our good Alfred Pennyworth.  
Wayne has learned many other things too. He has learned to stand up to others, to take control of things, to shape the world around him. Most of this without the need for a constant confrontation; usually he will simply sweep everything around him in his stride, question rather than defy. And, if need be, force situations into a solution. He has the strength, the intelligence and the focus to do it. And he has me, not a guide but the fixed point, the rock against any and all waves, stronger than him, strong enough for the both of us.  
What once stunted him is now fuel for his activities, his efforts to make Gotham better. Determined, relentless, he hacks one issue down and moves to the next. Though, of course, nobody really realizes how precious his contribution is to our welfare and safety. Gotham thrives and feeds on its own corruption, and for every victory two new challenges appear. It's not a problem; I would worry much more if Wayne found himself without a battle to fight all of a sudden.  
There is danger, though. Wayne is a very visible man, and those who won't simply chatter the occasional gossip about the eccentric billionaire and his initiatives or happy nights out will look further. And could find out things they are not supposed to know. Things that can hurt Wayne. Because society cares about icons, not deeds. And he must be safe to do what needs to be done.  
Which is where I usually step in. And this time it's Wayne who won't know about it, something Alfred takes care of with excellent skills, as usual. Wayne needs not only to be safe, but to know that he is safe and that I am safe too. As much as he has progressed, as much as strength and force and attitude are his to control rather than streams that take him away, he still needs to have me in the picture. Because even when all the world will be against him, I will be the very last one at his side.  
And there is much I can do. I had to grow and learn too, so much more than the spunky kid challenging her friend. You never simply change those around you, the fallout always changes everyone and everything. And I too found out something about myself in that cave, day after day. Though this, too, is something Wayne does not know about. Consciously, at least.

So this is one of those night when we go separate ways. Dinner for two, of course, and in style, because for all his love Alfred is always a bit wary that we could lose ourselves to our more basic way of interacting. So, on occasion, he kindly insists that Wayne treat me in, in his words, a way fit for a lady of the Wayne family, and we indulge because why not, after all. Makes it easier for all the those time I have to do my little play as the little black girl elevated to a higher status by a kind family. Let all believe that.  
I kiss Wayne good night, and make sure our lips hold longer than it's proper. We'll meet again at dawn. Because we love our movies, and we may have watched one called Ladyhawke one time too many. I love the allegory.  
And as sweet Joanna and lusty Jo disappear in the corridors, I transform again. More radically, I could say. Because tonight I wear a whole different mask.  
The cave is waiting for me, with corners that are mine and mine alone. And there my other self is waiting for me. As I strip down, I wonder what I would do if I could also strip away this very skin and flesh of mine. How many layers I have and what the real, basic identity of me is. And it's really half of the fun of this, losing myself in the change.  
There's always this moment, when the suit latches on to my body. It's like my senses go quiet after I strip, after that one quick breeze of moist warm air on around me, and they are suddenly jolted awake as every piece brushes, clutches and locks in. It's something primal, and fires me up for what is to come. Not so unlike the touch of a lover. Because, after all, the suit too is the other side of me. It is a different identity in itself, built for strength, protection, assault and darkness. It is a representation of an ideal, in a way, and nobody could ever guess who or what is inside it. Even I almost lose myself as I bring down the cowl and step through the cave, reborn.

I already know where to go, tonight. The only drawback of Wayne Manor is it is so far removed from the city. Or would be a drawback, if it did not make for the jet black upset I get into before roaring on the road.  
Bless injustice. The rich of Gotham have luxury and vice to spare, though they are very much wary of publicity, and many have learned not to question just another dark sports car in some places. Because corruption also means you need to have points of access for the right people in the worst places, and all that I make play for myself.  
As the engine hisses under me, a small part of me wants to howl. I am on a hunt, after all. And I am hungry for satisfaction.  
There is going to be a meeting tonight. A murder planning meeting. They never aim straight at Wayne, but at people lower on the ladder that authorize and endorse the activities of Wayne Enterprises in the city; of course you kill one and anybody who steps in will know very well what the expectations are.  
Not a difficult job. As all violent people, these fear the very same thing they dispense. Intimidation. Something I'm quite good at.  
I stop just a few blocks away, in a safe point where no one will see me getting out of the car. I walk in the shadows and, as soon as private enough, I climb a wall to get in a position of vantage. Small meeting, a couple of guards but nothing more to avoid getting too much attention. I am early, and only one of the guests is in the small building. Good.  
The dilettantes are side to side, chatting. They think of a different kind of enemy.  
So they have just an instant as the shadow of a cape announces my descent. Yes, I love a good cape, I'm a lady after all. And under my touch its fabric widens and envelopes my two victims, so there is only a big black shadow and nothing more that a muffled sound comes out as I grab and crush them to my body. Hurt and then harm, and scare them all the way by not saying a word as the fabric retreats on their faces, blinding and choking them. It is almost a pity to let them go, but I have other things to do right now.  
A small indoor greenhouse. Good old bricks, and a door I don't want to get in through. Never trust an enemy to be stupid, Murphy's law will punish you. But I have seen a small roof window before, and it's just wide enough.  
I get over the greenhouse and shift silently on the window. I carefully cut near its borders to make it unstable and wait. He is waiting, too, and paces in his impatience to get it over with. And as he passes under me, I jump down with all force.  
He jerks for an instant but his body, startled by the crash has stopped right under me and all he can do is feel the grip of my thighs suddenly closing around his throat, and my weight on his neck makes it impossible for him to turn or look up. Holding tight to the roof, I raise him up from the ground just enough so that he has no footing to move from. All he can do is hold to my legs with his hands and keep them from strangling him. I need him to talk, so I let him do it just barely. Not a bad grip, by the way, but not now and surely not with you.  
The interesting thing with society, and roles, and everything, is that people forgets to check the details. Sure, the suit hides everything, though very few ever get a chance to look at it, and oxygen deprivation does the rest, but I only need to lower my voice a tiny bit and they ask a man for mercy. They have even given me a name, my pathetic little lovely violent sheep. I love when they get all weak for me.  
But I need information. All the details, one at a time, literally squeezed out of him. Every time he's breathless, every time he barely manages to push me away, just because I let him. He processes a little less each time, and he probably thinks I will kill him in the end. Never crossed my mind. The biggest battles are in the mind, and fear can undo an enemy much without leaving space for a replacement. Let them stare at the face of God, and it's more than a bit arousing to think God is actually my thighs. That's what happens when you educate an angsty black girl with Freud, Kant and everything. I my own little way, I am a product of the system.  
As he loses consciousness, I let him fall to ground, with just a bit of ink on his forehead in case anyone hasn't paid attention. The others will get it, I am sure; though I will deliver a few more very personal messages, just to be sure.  
And then I leave. My mission for tonight is done, and I must head back to the Manor. It has not been unpleasant, but some things deserve to be done properly and fully to be enjoyed.

Inside the cave, I disrobe slowly. It's all about the transition, really, the moment in which I am all and none of my masks, and possibly my true self too. And some rush in and some rush out, I can nearly see them around and on me.  
Until it's just me, naked and free, descending in the small underground spring that warms the cave. I let the little waterfall shower me, and glimpse at the first lights of day bouncing on the rocks in a remote part of the cave. Time to be a good crime fighting Cinderella.  
And suddenly two strong arms come out of the waterfall to hold me tight. He pushes me forward gently, and I resist just a bit to feel our bodies together. I move my hands back to hold to him in turn. And then we dance.

Deep down, Wayne must know. He may not realize the details, but part of him feels who I really am. It is the unspoken pact between us. A pact we renew so often in our dance in the cave. Naked, at each other's mercy, hungry and anxious and not a bit lusting at each other for that clash, that contact, the hurt not harm that makes us whole. The rush that becomes a blood bond time and time again.  
And I let him control it. He is not a child, to be held by hand through life. He needs to set his own goals and follow his instinct. I will take care of the process, and help and protect him, because I am his strength. Our strength. And he is and must be the one Master of Wayne Manor.  
Me?  
I am everything. And nothing. All at the same time.  
I am Joanna. I am Jo.  
And I'm Batman.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this one a long while ago, trying to push the envelope on themes and scenes I ususally steer clear from. Still feels awkward a lot in places, but I thought I'd never be actually happy with it so I decided to hell with it and let's post it as it came out in the very beginning.


End file.
